Lament of Innocence
by GrangersDangerousLiaisons
Summary: The golden trio are separated after the events at Malfoy Manor. When they reunite two years later, neither are as they were before. Trigger warnings apply. HP/HG/DM RW/OC


Chapter One: Separation

Voldemorts presence in the grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor was akin to having the devil himself before you. All the inhabitants tensed at his arrival, flight or fight responses in gear. All except for two, Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione Granger; the former only felt insane reverence, the latter was lying on the floor too incoherent from the after-effects of torture.

Harry had been brought in a few moments earlier. He and Ron had been going spare in the dungeons thinking of any way to help Hermione. When Bellatrix had confirmed with Griphook that the sword of Gryffindor was fake, she had sent for him. Narcissa had come and Harry had felt unnerved at her unflinching gaze. As they neared the ballroom, he had heard Griphook's screams as Greyback took him away. At that moment he could only feel relieved that it had not been Hermione as promised. It was due to this that he did not put up a fight when he was silenced, immobilized and bound.

Voldemort turned his red eyes to Harry after Bellatrix had finished explaining why she had called him here. For a moment there was only silence as Voldemort mulled the information she provided, then he gave a closed-lipped smile.

"At last, Harry, your stroke of luck ends here." Voldemort announced, pointing the elder wand at him.

Harry stilled in the wake of his movement. For a second, he wanted to flee, wanted to run and hide. He did not want to die and he tensed as if to make a run for it but just as quickly as that feeling came it went. In its stead was a tranquil almost relieving feeling of acceptance. He closed his eyes, ready.

"No!" The voice, hoarse and weak, sliced his calm. Harry's eyes shot open to watch Hermione, the smartest witch of her age, desperately crawling across the wooden floor; her hands making loud squeaking sounds from the friction. "No!" she pleaded, eyes wide and fixed on Voldemort. Bellatrix let out a noise that could have been an indignant laugh or outraged cry. Either way, she crossed over to harshly kick Hermione in the side, propelling her closer to Voldemort with the force. Harry physically started at the act of violence before he felt an animalistic rage as he watched. He wanted to tear Bellatrix limb from limb, wanted to cradle Hermione and protect her from all this, to shield her from any further pain.

"How dare you talk to him! How dare you even look at him, you—" Harry's teeth grounded together as Bellatrix prepared to strike her again.

Voldemort raised a quelling hand, his eyes on Hermione as she continued to crawl over to him.

"He's your…horo—" Voldemort swooped down on Hermione faster than Harry could blink.

He watched in horrified fascination as Voldemort reached out to grip Hermione's chin, staring into her eyes. Nothing was said for a long time as Voldemort penetrated Hermione's mind but Harry could see from Voldemorts face that he was very displeased about something. Harry wished that he would just leave her alone, he didn't like to see Voldemort so close to her…touching her. He wanted everyone to just get away from her. She suffered enough. He would have said something if he wasn't under a silencing spell and bonded.

After a while he let go of Hermione's chin, letting her face fall harshly to the floor after she passed out from the rough legilimency.

Harry couldn't even begin to wonder what Voldemort had read in Hermione's mind to put such a conflicted look on his face. After a moment Voldemort turned to the room at large.

"Leave us." He demanded. Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Leave?" Bellatrix whispered. Voldemorts eyes snapped to her and she immediately simpered and abided to his order, the rest of the sycophants quickly following after. The youngest Malfoy looked like he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

When all of his death eaters were out of sight, Voldemort then turned to look at Harry once more. He flicked his wand at him and Harry winced, thinking the worst only to feel nothing.

"Your little mudblood let me see quite a lot of…interesting things, Harry." He drawled.

"Don't call her that!" Harry snapped, suppressing his surprise at being able to speak again. Voldemorts wand flicked in his direction and Harry felt a sharp invisible slap against his cheek, strong enough to throw his head to the side.

Voldemort continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I saw your hunt for my Horcruxes. I saw your triumph after you and the Weasley boy came back with the broken remains of my family's heirloom. It seemed your clever little mudblood figured a lot of things out," he turned his head to look down at Hermione with a smile that could almost be considered fond if it weren't on a monster's face, "A pity about her blood," He picked up Hermione's arm, showcasing the mudblood crudely carved into her forearm and stroking a finger down the bleeding scar, "She would have a completely different mark on her if even half of her blood was pure."

Harry struggled in his bonds, every fiber of his being wanted to wrench him away from her to the point that he was shaking. "Don't touch her. You get the hell away from her." he hissed. Voldemort dropped her arm with a careless shrug. "I wonder if she told you… Do you know, Harry? Do you know what you are?" He crossed over to him, eyes fixed on the scar marring his forehead.

A dread formed deep inside Harry. He was not an idiot. He recalled Hermione's earlier words 'He's your horo-'

It did not take much to guess the end of that sentence. ' _I'm a horocrux,'_ Harry knew it to be true. He felt no emotion at the revelation. He felt numb. Was that an emotion in itself?

He gazed back at Voldemort.

"Surely, you must realize that I cannot kill you without killing a piece of myself."

Harry took a moment to wonder about all the implications for not killing him would have not only for Voldemort but his friends and the tide of the war. How would Voldemort's followers feel that the one their lord promised to kill could suddenly not be killed? Would Voldemort create new horocruxes knowing as he did that Harry and Ron destroyed one? Did he know about the others destroyed? Would he kill his friends? What would he do with him?

These questions and so many others whirled in Harry's mind to the point that he felt nauseous.

Harry's thoughts were cut off when he felt the pain of Voldemort's rage brewing into molten lava in his veins. He knew Voldemort's dilemma. He could not kill Harry and he could not explain to his followers why he, nor anyone else, could kill Harry. Voldemort was not about to tell his followers about horocruxes.

"You've put me in quite a position, Harry," Voldemort said conversationally, his voice not betraying that hot rage that was nearly splitting Harry's head in two. "I have come up with a temporary solution, however."

Voldermort bared his teeth in a monstrous smile before he turned his wand on Hermione. "Are you ready to say goodbye to your little mudblood, Harry?"

Harry felt ice enter his veins as he struggled to concentrate through the agonizing pain in his head. He opened his mouth to…he wasn't sure, maybe beg, scream, threaten, Voldemort but before he could he was hit with another silencing spell.

"After all, if I cannot kill you, I'll have to stage your death and it's only fitting that it be her." Voldemort reached out to finger Hermione's hair. "Don't worry, Harry. You'll still see your mudblood every day as you'll be wearing her face and posing as my new mudblood sla—"

A loud pop echoed throughout the hall. Before Voldemort could even finish his statement, Harry felt the pull of apparition sucking him into someplace unknown by someone equally unknown.

Disoriented by the unexpected action, it took Harry a long time to recover and understand his surroundings.

The first face he saw was Snape, eyes cold as he assessed him.

"Harry Potter sir!" He heard a high pitch voice squeal just as Snape flicked his wand and his bindings fell. He thought the voice sounded familiar but didn't think much of it as he threw a punch toward Snape.

Snape had obviously been expecting this reaction as Harry's hand was met with an invisible shield. Harry's fists ricocheted painfully back but he was too enraged to properly feel it. Breathing fast like a caged animal, he glared at Snape, trying to make sense of what could possibly be going on. "You—!"

"Harry Potter sir!" Dobby stepped before him, eyes wide and entire body trembling as he grabbed Harry's rapidly bruising hand.

"Dobby?" Harry asked with disbelief, trying to reconcile the sight of Dobby with Snape of all people. "What?"

Snape opened his mouth but once again Harry's head erupted as Voldemort's rage seeped through to him. Fear paralyzed Harry as he realized that Hermione was still with that monster and maybe even Ron.

"SEND ME BACK!" He screamed, clutching his head. "SEND ME BACK!"

Panicked, Harry reached for a shell-shocked Dobby, shaking the little elf. "HE'LL KILL THEM! SEND ME BACK!" Dobby's eyes filled with tears but did not budge to follow the command.

"Potter," Harry screamed as he was thrown into Voldemort's mind, sufficiently drowning out Snape's words.

 _Screams rang in his ears, louder than the roaring of his fury, as he kept the curse steady on the prone figure on the floor._

 _"_ _Find him!" He bellowed, finally releasing the spell. "Now!"_

 _Bellatrix twitched on the floor but had the sense of mind to give a small nod. "—es, M-m-y lord." She could barely get the words out through the chattering of her teeth._

 _Voldemort turned from the foyer to go back into the ballroom, rage pounding still in his veins. Once inside his eyes fell on the unconscious mudblood._

At that second blackness took over Harry and he knew no more.

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Ron Weasley panted with panic as all went quiet above them. He shook, feeling as if he would go mad from wondering what had happened up there.

He had heard Voldemort torturing Bellatrix, sounding absolutely mad as he raved about the Malfoy's betrayal and demanding that Bellatrix find Harry Potter then silence.

What happened to Hermione? Who had her? Voldemort? Bellatrix? Greyback? Was she already dead?

He wondered and wondered some more with Luna, Dean and Ollivander. He then began to wonder what would happen with them? He was on pins and needles for what felt like years as he wondered when they would come for him and what they would do. Would they torture him? Kill him? Question him under Veritaserum?

He wondered and wondered until his panicked body began wondering when it would eat or drink. He wasn't sure how many but he knew days must have gone by.

Luna told him that they could survive seven days without water before they died. It was on the fifth that Ollivandar passed away.

They were nearing the end of the sixth when finally something happened.

Ron was too disoriented to remember much. He remembered hearing voices and the feeling of being levitated. He was in and out of consciousness for what felt like forever until his severely dehydrated body recuperated. He found himself lying in a bright room. He was clean and dressed in very crisp white clothes. He had not been alone. A blonde woman wearing all white stood near the foot of his bed with a blank face. His hair rose on his arms as he wondered just how long she had been standing there gazing at him like that while he was none the wiser.

"Hello, Ronald." Ron felt immediately apprehensive. Something was…off.

"Where am I?" He eyed the room. There was no window and it was small, smaller than his room at the Burrow and that was small. Everything was grey; the walls, the bed frame, the hardwood floors and the thin bed sheet and pillowcase. He tried to think, he felt like there was something pressing he was forgetting. "Where's…" He trailed off, unsure why couldn't finish the question. He gazed at the woman before him with unseeing eyes as he struggled to figure out what the pressing need he was feeling could possibly be about.

The woman did not seem to mind, or care really, about his inner turmoil. She just waved her wand and took notes on a clipboard she had magically procured. Ron felt a surge of anger at her blasé attitude. Didn't she understand that something _was not right_?

He welcomed the anger like a familiar friend. _Friend..._ He recognized the importance of that word but just as quickly lost it.

"I asked you where I was, are you just going to ignore me?" He asked through gritted teeth.

The woman raised her eyes to his, cold and uncompassionate. She huffed before she returned to her paperwork. Ron's anger spiked and his hands curled into fists. He wanted to strike her but it was inherently against his nature to strike any woman. _No, that's not right. I'd certainly strike B…B…_ Ron frowned as he lost his train of thought. Who…?

"What is your name?" He tried again, this time with less bite. The woman did not even acknowledge him but just waved her wand a final time before making for the exit.

Ron made a break for the door before she could shut it fully. Not expecting the onslaught, the woman let out a cry, her clipboard falling to the floor. There was only a second of them wrestling the door which way before Ron won. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. His hand reached out to grab hold of the woman writs in a viselike grip. He pulled her back into the room, ignoring the woman's screeching as he used his foot to shut the door. He held her, her back to his chest, easily overpowering her physically, and grabbed her wand.

He received the shock of his life as soon as his hand made contact with it. He automatically dropped it and even her in his surprise. "Bloody—" He stopped when the woman made to lunge for it.

His long legs gave him an advantage and he was able to kick it away before her questing fingers could fully grip it. He had a split second to react before she either made for her wand or the door. He launched himself at her and then pulled her into a headlock. Often when he was younger one of his elder brothers held him in a similar position until he passed out. He felt guilty doing the same thing to a woman but still continued with the action.

Once the woman had ceased her struggling and was clearly unconscious he proceeded to fashion the bed covers into bindings by ripping strips off in a show of brute strength. He tied her hands and feet together, barely even understanding his own actions and questioning everything.

He was moving purely on instinct and his instincts were screaming at him to get away by any means necessary.

When he felt certain that the woman was secured, he then eyed the wand. He tried to pick it up with the bed cover or pillowcase to no avail; nothing prevented the harsh shock and when he tried to keep his grip despite the shocks he'd nearly knocked himself out.

Without a means to use it for himself, the wand was only a weapon that could be used against him so with no choice, he decided to break it. He pulled the bed frame over and angled one metal leg over the wand. It took a few (a lot) of tries but he managed to break the wand in half.

Then he waited.

When the woman came to, she immediately made to scream but Ron had already foreseen that and had stuffed pieces of cloth into her mouth and tied some bindings around her head so she couldn't spit it out. Regardless that the effort was futile, the woman still screamed and struggled until her face was red. Ron watched keeping his face blank. She finally stopped and glared at him, her blonde hair losing its secure tight bun structure to fall in front of her face.

"I have questions and if you don't answer them, I'll break your fingers like I broke your wand." The woman's eyes widened as Ron kicked the broken pieces into view. Her eyes dulled in submission at the sight. "If you scream, I'll gag you and then rip out your nails." He was bluffing but she didn't know that. Her eyes widened further before she nodded. "Good."

He undid the knot holding her gag in place and eyed her to make sure she wouldn't scream. She panted but kept quiet, eying him in return.

"Have I been obliviated?" he knew that was the most logical reason why he was having such trouble remembering things. _Important_ things.

"Not obliviated," she answered in a quiet voice. "Though your memory has been modified." He frowned.

"Why?" He didn't ask what they modified; it would be pointless to ask that now. She smirked nastily.

"For your rehabilitation." She did not elaborate. Ron realized she seemed to almost enjoy making him go through all the motions.

"What am a being rehabilitated from."

"Your anti-pureblood supremacy sentimentalities." Ron did not understand, his memory was faulty and he felt distinctly like he was missing a big picture.

"Anti-pureblood _supremacy_ sentimentalities. Are you saying I'm being rehabilitated to be an arrogant prick?" He rolled his eyes, his mind conjuring Draco Malfoy. "Yeah, no. I won't stand for that shit." The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"How…utterly uncouth. You have a long way to go, Ronald." Ron did not like her tone, belittling and grating. He did not like the way she said Ronald. It was nothing like how _she_ would…

She.

 _Who is she?_ He shook his head before his thoughts could get too cared away.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked and the girl laughed.

"Isn't it obvious? Pureblood is too precious to be spilled! You need to understand that your rightful place is above all others. You have blood that can be traced as far back as the founders. You have strong magical genes. Your family has proven breeding supremacy yet you and all the rest of the blood traitors have turned their backs on their blood to wallow with filth! You must be cured! For the sake of your bloodline and for the betterment and enrichment of Pureblood kind." The woman finished her impassioned speech with a sort of fervor that made goosebumps break on his skin. "No more pureblood will be spilled. You must be cured."

Ron shook his head, officially creeped out. "What sort of security does this place have?" He asked tersely, not even bothering to enter a debate with the crazed woman.

Said woman seemed to calm from her madness at the question. She shook her head in disappointment.

"Oh Ronald," she sighed, eyes gazing at him wistfully. "You have such promise… such strength. I can't wait to see what you will become when you're all fixed."

He opened his mouth to argue but before he could even get a syllable out, the door to his room burst open and three wizards entered all with their wands pointed at him.

"Sweet dreams." The woman said just before his world went black.

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Draco Malfoy didn't know what was going on anymore. As soon as the Dark Lord had ordered them out of the room, presumably to kill Granger and do who knows what to Potter—prepare him like a virginal sacrifice, he suspected—his mother had acted bizarrely.

She'd turned her wand immediately upon her sister, silently stunning her behind her back before quickly doing the same to her husband. She then conjured a patronus— _patronus_! a magical feat he'd never seen, nor known her to be capable of doing before—and said a very cryptic message to some mysterious someone. Then without further ado, she'd pulled both him and his unconscious father into apparition. She'd then proceeded to disapparate them not once but _three times_ before they finally came to a rest in some forsaken looking place abandoned plaza that was surrounded by _muggles_!

"Memorize this location, Draco." His mother had ordered in such halcyon tone, he thought for an absurd moment that Loony Lovegood had replaced her.

"I will not—" He started but then with eyes, only the madness of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black could conjure, his mother cut him off. She didn't even have to open her mouth, all it took was that _look_. He shivered and obeyed.

Draco was self-preservationist.

When he had it memorized, he watched as the plaza morphed like a transformer into a rather large and equally abandoned theatre that proudly sported a large sign that read Alphard's Theatrical School for the Dramatic!

"Close your mouth Draco. You look like a Weasley." His mouth snapped shut and he shot a glare at his mother's back. She walked away with unparalleled assurance and grace into the quite, _quite_ , ominous looking building, with his father levitating before her. Maybe she was going to use his father to feed whatever forsaken creature most definitely inhabited the place. It wouldn't surprise him.

He almost found himself, in fact, surprised when she did not feed his father to the hounds of hell or any other creature ("For the last time, there are no creatures here!" So said his mother) but started to tend to him.

"Are you really not going to tell me what just happened?" Draco asked for the gazillionth time. She turned her gaze away from the dark circles under her husbands' eyes before giving a long-suffering sigh.

"Fine, I'll explain," She paused, her eyes eerily gazing behind him. Draco swiveled in his seat and was up with wand out before she, or even he for that matter, could blink. "Or not." She finished.

Draco gaped as Severus stood before him with an unconscious Harry Potter levitating before him and officially gave up right there.

"Oh, this is just bloody great!" With much fare, Draco threw himself back onto his seat. "What next? House-elf liberation? Professor Binns making a joke?"

"Shut up, Draco." Severus hissed before very apathetically tossing Potter on the nearest flat surface that just happened to be a carving table. What that was doing in someone's room, Draco did not want to know. To each there own.

"What happened?" Narcissa asked, abandoning her post by Lucius' side to gaze down at Potter. Severus sneered at the prone form before taking a seat in a corner and heaving a sigh.

"I had to stun him. He was having a fit about going back and then he fell into the Dark Lord's mind and was screaming bloody murder."

Narcissa frowned and then in gently brushed a bit of unruly dark hair away from Potter's furrowed brows. Draco felt angry and uncomfortable at the gesture with an irrational wave of jealousy.

" What the bloody hell is going on?" Draco hissed, gazing switching back and forth between the man he always viewed as an uncle and the woman he hardly recognized as his mum. He considered wildly that perhaps he had cracked sometime after Voldemort casually fed his pet snake a professor before a banquet dinner. Or perhaps he cracked when Bellatrix had carved mudblood into Grangers' arm.

It was very plausible.

"Draco, darling, isn't it obvious? We're…what's that posh word you used for it, Severus?" Snape smirked for some reason Draco couldn't begin to understand, much like this entire day, really.

"Turncoats." Severus answered. Narcissa snapped her elegant fingers and nodded. "That's right. We're turncoats. We've defected from the dark side." He gaped (like a Weasley! So what?) at his mother who seemed—dare he even think the adjective in tandem with her name— _giddy._ He turned his incredulous eyes on his unconscious father and pointed a finger (a finger that, should Lucius wake up to see he would have reflexively hex off, then ask questions later) at him.

"You mean to tell me that _he_ defected?" Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"Well, of course, your father didn't defect. Why do you think he's unconscious? No, I've simply abandoned my post as the neck to completely take over the head."

Draco gave her a deadpanned look. He had never liked that saying; "Man is the head of the household but the woman is the neck and she can turn the head whichever way she pleases," but it certainly applied to his family.

He wanted to argue; wanted to put her down by asking her if that had been the case then why were they in this position in the first place, but respect for his mother was engraved in him so he held his tongue.

"So what are you planning on telling him when he wakes up?" Draco asked instead, raising a challenging brow. He then nodded to the other sleeping body. "Or him for that matter?"

At the same time, both Narcissa and Severus let out long sighs. Then for the first time all day he smiled, realizing his good fortune. Sure there was a high probability that Voldemort would find them and skin them alive and let them watch as he fed it to his pet snake, but at least he didn't have to deal with his father or Potter.

No, he could just sit back and watch the chaos unfold without any of the backlash. He intertwined his hands behind his head as he sat back with a smirk, watching his godfather and mother fret.

He was proven wrong when a moment later, Potter struck, sucker punching him square in the jaw and sending him flying back toward the floor.

His fleeting thought before his head collided with the edge of his father's bed frame was to leave it to Potter to always bugger everything up for him, then he embarrassingly and unfairly passed out.

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"I know you're awake, mudblood."

His voice was the rudest awakening she'd ever had. She shrunk into herself at the sound of it; only thought in her head ' _I don't want to be tortured again. Please, don't torture me, pleasepleasepleaseplease…_ '

She did not speak these words aloud, wasn't even sure she could. Instead, she lied there in silence quacking before him, weak and afraid.

She remembered that beyond the pain that had consumed her completely, beyond what Bellatrix had reduced her to, there was Harry and Ron.

Nothing could happen to them. Her eyes snapped open and she met his blood-red gaze.

Voldemort smiled at her.

"Ah, there's a brave little mudblood," he said praisingly. "If you had kept your eyes closed for even a second longer I was going to crucio you." He stood, the swish of his robes brushing her with the action. She did not startle at the caviler threat of torture, she expected it, what she did start at was the sudden glass of water Voldemort held out for her to take.

She realized then that she was on a bed. A supremely soft bed, in fact. She sat up, nearly colliding with the pro-offered cup as she took in her surroundings.

She had a split second to do so before the painful spasms decommissioned her. She thought she might have even black out for a few seconds due to the wave of overwhelming throbbing nerves and nausea.

"You should have known better to do that." Voldemort stated unfeelingly. "Now, for you show of witlessness, I'll leave you to suffer." He then promptly vanished the glass.

She almost let out a 'please' but quickly recovered from that lapse. Her pleads would fall on deaf ears after all. Voldemort was incapable of feeling.

She wondered then if he was not sentient if he could even be counted as a human being. She remembered getting bored one summer and decided, for a bit of light reading, to read peer reviews about the philosophy of consciousness. It had been fascinating to divulge into since there could be no definitive answer.

Now, tortured and in enemy territory, she recalled the sections on sentience. She so wished that she wasn't sentient. She wanted to be a piece of carrot. She knew exactly which one too. The one that Harry had eaten the other night during dinner.

She was struck for a moment with the realization that dinner could very possibly be the last one she would ever share with him. Or Ron for that matter. What happened to him?

She gazed through the haze of her pain and her own straggled thoughts at Voldemort. She wanted to ask him what he had done with Harry. Could he have possibly killed him even after she had allowed him to rape her mind so he could learn the truth?

She knew that was improbable based on what she knew of Voldemort's character. Then again assumptions are the absence of proof. She wished vehemently that she had not passed out when she did. She needed to know what happened after and how she ended up in some odd room in some unknown location without Harry.

"Don't you have questions?" Voldemort voice was conversational and even inviting if dared attune the two together.

She solidified then that every encounter, word, and movement would all have to be very carefully deliberated should she want to survive for whatever indeterminate amount of time she remained in Voldemort's presence for. She had two incontestable aims; to not get tortured and to escape. She would not allow herself to think this impossible despite dealing with a megalomaniac.

"I do but I don't know how you will receive my questions and I'm unsure I will survive more torture." Her words were matter-of-fact, belying the discord her thoughts held.

"Hmm," He stroked a long pale finger down his face in contemplation, before lightning fast he raised his wand.

She didn't even hear him say it. She only felt the immediate response in every fiber of her being. The pain, so ferocious, whipped her of all else. All she felt was pain. The cruciatus curse was so much more than being set on fire repeatedly with no reprieve, so much more than being stabbed and cut apart slowly; it was all that and then being eaten alive, strung up to hang by her only her skin, it was an open wound being rubbed with sandpaper, it was raping every nerve in her body.

Even when it was over, it wasn't really over. She remained trapped in its wake; like a slug doused in salt.

She came into her body to find herself positioned in a horribly twisted manner, her neck turned one way, her torso another. She was twitching, shaking, whimpering like an animal.

But she had not lost her mind. She remained self-aware; she remembered her life, remembered her purpose.

"So you could take another curse, mudblood. Don't underestimate yourself." She felt his hand give her cheek two pats.

What the hell? _What the hell?_ Had he really only done that just to so she could prove to herself she could survive it?

"Tell me mudblood," He started again, tone light, "About your crusade for the house elves."

Had she been able to feel anything other than waves of throbbing pain, she might have been surprised by the question. As it stood, all she wanted was to shut her eyes against all light and fall asleep to get away from sentience.

"I can't…" Her voice was a wisp of syllables blended together. She could hardly stand to strew words together let alone converse about her ideas about liberation for all.

"You can and you will." He grabbed her hair, harshly pulling her head back and making her eyes snap open to focus on him. "Or shall I prove to you again that you can survive more than you think?"

So she did. She told him through painstaking gasps and long pauses about starting S.P.E.W and recruiting the elves at Hogwarts. She spoke about her interviews with the elves and their aversion to her ideals. She told him about Dobby, her sole supporter and champion. While she spoke, Voldemort listened with rapt attention. She wondered about his motive and reason and kept any useful information, like Dobby being close to Harry, or Kreacher and his tie to them and the horocruxes. She kept her information factual, citing research she did and reactions.

When she was done, there was silence for a few moments before Voldemort spoke, his expression pensive. "Your ideologies are steeped in naivety and ignorance." He said it so matter-of-fact that Hermione's could not control her instinct to scoff back at him.

"You're a cynic." She retorted before her brain could catch up. She paused in fear, waiting to be cursed but Voldemort just smirked at her.

"That is just a word to denote the absence of naivety that you exhibit. I rest my case." She wanted to argue but knew it was futile. She was not talking to just anyone but a Dark Lord. She could never allow herself to forget that.

Hermione heard the clinking sound of something being stirred out of her range of sight. She wanted to turn and see what Voldemort was doing but did not have the strength to move. She was a boneless vulnerable heap before her mortal enemy. It made her want to cry. "Drink." Voldemort ordered, coming back into her line of sight and pressing a cool glass against her lips.

She did not fight him; what would be the point? He'd just torture her and make her drink it anyway. No, there would be no act of foolish bravery. She would pick and choose her battles carefully.

He gave her two more potions and in the end, she was glad for them. Her muscles stopped spasming and her body became numb. She was about to drift off to sleep when he spoke once more. "Rest well while you can, mudblood. You'll need all your strength for tomorrow."

Finally, with those ominous words ringing in her ears, Hermione drifted off to sleep.


End file.
